


Little Wolf

by agirlcalledbob



Series: Little Wolf [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, But not standard, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Derek has a pet wolf, Fragile Stiles, Lost Stiles, M/M, Pre-Slash, Shifter AU, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:01:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24698746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agirlcalledbob/pseuds/agirlcalledbob
Summary: As Marla padded into the room, the pup shivered, his head down. She sniffed the air, lifting her muzzle and vocalizing what could only be described as a chirp, a high pitched noise that made Derek want to pet her soft head. But he knew the sound wasn’t for him, so he stayed very still, awaiting the pup’s response. He whined shortly, testing, and Marla yipped. That made the pup lift his head and release a longer whine, and Marla approached slowly, her posture surprisingly submissive, although Derek realized she was actually trying to seem non-threatening.It made his heart do a funny loopy thing, seeing how ever-so protective-and-territorial Marla was automatically accepting the pup.It's a world where everyone's a Were, and the 'Wolves are the strongest of them all. So, where has this broken little werewolf pup, who is hurt and can't heal, come from? And why is he so attached to Derek?
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Little Wolf [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1804117
Comments: 16
Kudos: 394





	Little Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> Cute? I think so (though I won't pretend my cold dead heart is normally a good gauge on what's cute). Just felt something sweet was in order and wasn't in the mood for smut (for about 35 seconds).

“Mom! Mom!”  
Derek looked up from his book at Cora’s half-panicked, half-excited shout and glanced at his mom, who sighed and placed her own book on the coffee table, face down.

He reached over to insert a bookmark and smooth the pages, before following more slowly to the kitchen.

He could see his mom’s back, as she stood over the couch, and he could see the top of Cora’s dark head as she knelt over something on the floor. And he smelled the sharp metallic tang of blood.  
“Cora!” he moved quickly, but she reared back, almost hissing at him to back away.  
He saw why immediately, as the small creature at her knees whimpered and seemed to try to burrow into the tiled floor. Derek’s heart missed a beat, shuddering slow before starting up again twice as fast.  
“He’s a pup, Mom. He’s hurt. I think maybe a grown wolf attacked him. Or even a coyote. He’s small enough that one could.”

Talia glanced at Derek with a furrow to her brow before looking down at Cora.  
“Baby, he’s small enough that a fox could have done it.”  
She wasn’t wrong about how fragile the pup looked. Derek couldn’t smell how mature the pup was, because of the stench of blood, and pain, rolling off him, but the length of the limbs suggested he wasn’t as young as Cora was assuming.  
“I think he needs a vet. You wanna come with me to see Dr Deaton, Cora?” he offered.  
“I don’t think we should move him,” she insisted.  
“Is he a were?” Talia asked Derek.  
It was unnerving, because Derek couldn’t tell, but his mom should be able to. Alpha noses were far more advanced than Betas’. And he _couldn’t_ tell. Even though he was trying to take deep breaths surreptitiously, trying to filter out the warm pack scents of his mom and sister. Trying to get past _fear, hurt, pain_ rolling off the little wolf. Suddenly, he was hit with a deep undercurrent of ‘fresh’: forest pine and citrus, which was probably just the smell of the outdoors.

“He isn’t a were, mom, he isn’t healing,” Cora suggested, but Talia shrugged. There were plenty of occasions that could mess with were healing powers, though it would be true that the ‘wolves had the strongest healing powers, and, fragile he might be, the pup was definitely a wolf. 

“I don’t want to go to the doctor, mom. We can fix him up here,” Cora whined with a flush. Derek knew it was because of her very one-sided crush on the doctor-vet’s assistant, Scott. The young sub-Alpha wolf was utterly oblivious – to everything, it seemed, but, specifically, to Cora’s feelings. It was for the best. Cora was only sixteen and Derek would hate to have to murder a doctor in training.

Derek approached the pup carefully, getting a better look at his filthy, matted fur and rheumy eyes.  
“Hey sweetie,” he rumbled, getting a calming burr into his voice. He prided himself on being good with frightened animals, so it didn’t help his ego when the pup bared his dirty teeth, letting out a fear filled almost-growl and pressing his back against Cora’s knees. That touch seemed to scare him even more, and he turned, snapping at the air, trying to move in the other direction, but the coffee table was in the way and, anyway, the move seemed to cause him agony, a squeal matching a fresh burst of blooded-scent, and he flopped down, whimpering, his side raising and falling with rapid, shallow breaths.

“I’m going to ask Dr Deaton to come here,” Talia announced. “Just try and get him calm enough to stay still. Maybe by both of you leaving him completely alone.”

Derek knew he could just go, back to his book, that had been just getting to a good bit, and leave Cora to her Florence Nightingale, but, for some reason, he didn’t want to leave. Didn’t want the little, shaking pup to feel as though he was being deserted.

Dr Deaton arrived quickly, with his black medical bag overflowing.  
“You don’t know if he’s a were or a regular wolf?” the man asked with confusion coloring his words. It was a reasonable uncertainty. Deaton was a wolf himself, but a maned one, so his scent-ability wasn’t as finely honed as theirs. Derek couldn’t think of a time when they hadn’t been capable of identifying a scent for him, but this seemed to be a first for it. 

Deaton crouched close to the pup, that regarded him though a slitted eye.  
“Here to help, pup.”  
The pup pulled his lip back again, a clear warning, though he didn’t move further and his eyes rolled a little. It was clear the pain was getting too much and Deaton moved quickly, jabbing a hypodermic into the would-be meaty hip of the pup, except there was no meat there. He yowled, agony vying with something that sounded a lot like indignation, and Derek couldn’t help a smile, which the pup reacted to with a huff, before sinking into unconsciousness.

Deaton worked efficiently, shaving the pup’s fur, revealing pink scratched skin marked with dotted moles, and far too many visible bones. He cleaned up and sewed together a gash along the pup’s leg, and another, shallower one, in his side. He didn’t seem to have any other scarring, so Derek hoped that he hadn’t been attacked before today. He didn’t even question it when Deaton asked him to carry the pup to a bed in a guest room and lay him on a comforter. 

“Well, you have your answer,” Deaton said, as the four of them looked down at the sleeping pup looking, if possible, even worse now, with huge patches of missing fur and thick black stitches, the fur that was remaining uneven and patchy.  
“We do?” Talia asked.  
“Surely you can smell him now the fear and pain has dissipated?”  
Derek took a breath. The only thing he could smell was that fresh, foresty scent, somehow even sharper now, despite the wolf being indoors for so long.  
“He’s a were,” Deaton shrugged, “though I’d guess he hasn’t shifted for some time. A long time. It’s possible he might never shift back. It happens occasionally.”  
“I guess my nose is full of the rest of the stench,” Talia said.  
“What do you mean? He smells fine. Nice even,” Derek complained. His mom and Deaton shared a look.

* * * * * 

The pup didn’t move much for the next few days. Funnily, after his initial reaction to Cora and Derek it was only the two of them he’d bear any contact from. Deaton had suggested he probably wasn’t _technically_ a pup, but the reaction whenever Deaton came close to attempt testing that would tell them was powerful enough that he’d eventually just backed out of the room sheepishly and suggested confirmation could probably wait, now that the he was clearly out of danger. 

They’d decided, as a pack, that the new pup needed time to get better, even if very few of the pack had even seen him, because he got visibly distressed if anyone even came into the hallway outside his room. He allowed Cora and Derek to bring him food, and tolerated Talia as far as the doorway, and Derek presumed they’d somehow _imprinted_ on him or something, being first there when he arrived.

Derek was sitting with the pup, who was curled against his side, reading aloud, because his voice seemed to soothe the little wolf, when the small body stiffened, and let out a low warning growl. Derek looked up, to see Marla approaching the doorway, her huge storm-cloud head tilted to the side, confusion abound.

They’d kept her away from the pup; not because of her potential reaction – she was preternaturally protective of the pack, but he offered zero threat, Derek knew – but because of how _he_ might react. Although his wolf form seemed to be the only one he was willing – or able – to take, Deaton had confirmed he was a shifter, and his potential reaction to an actual full wolf was an unknown quantity.

Whilst were’s and animals lived happily side-by-side but separate, it was unusual for a wolf to allow itself to be kept as what amounted to a pet. They’d found Marla, injured and separated from her pack, several years earlier, as a pup. The parallels with the new pup were obvious, and they’d kept Marla as she healed, and intended to find her pack when she was well. They’d found them, tried to get her to go with them, and then found her back at the house by the time they returned home. That had happened three times before they realized she’d switched packs, and wasn’t going anywhere.

They couldn’t communicate with her, even in their own wolf forms – they were still different species, after all – but there was a level of understanding from the wolf, now fully grown and enormous (for a regular wolf), that spoke of an unusual intelligence. Deaton had said she would have likely to have become leader of her own pack, who they still saw on the preserve from time to time, but she was never inclined to do more than wuff at them in greeting before going back to her adopted pack, and was certainly happy to acknowledge Talia as her leader and act as self-appointed body guard to everyone. 

Derek was worried, but didn’t want to make any sudden movements, even as Marla padded into the room, and the pup shivered, his head down. She sniffed the air, lifting her muzzle and vocalizing what could only be described as a chirp, a high pitched noise that made Derek want to pet her soft head. But he knew the sound wasn’t for him, so he stayed very still, awaiting the pup’s response. He whined shortly, testing, and Marla yipped. That made the pup lift his head and release a longer whine, and Marla approached slowly, her posture surprisingly submissive, although Derek realized she was actually trying to seem non-threatening. 

It made his heart do a funny loopy thing, seeing how ever-so protective-and-territorial Marla was automatically accepting the pup. She kept the slow pace until she was by him, lowering her muzzle to allow the pup to sniff her, and, really, Derek was going to have to stop calling him a pup when he clearly wasn’t. Yes, he was thin to the point of emaciation, and he was a long way from being the size of Derek when he was in his wolf form, but he could see that his legs were easily the same length as Marla’s, and, allowing for his matted and flattened fur compared to the pouf that surrounded her head, his head was comparable too. 

Marla lifted her head, looking up as Derek with something suspiciously close to accusation in her eyes, before she bowed her head and started gently lapping by the sore, swollen skin around his wounds.  
“I know, Marla. He needs a bath. But we wanted his owies to get better before we started moving him.” He heard, and ignored, the snort from Cora, in the doorway, where she was staying so as not to disturb the tentative peace between the little were and the she-wolf.  
“We will need to wash him soon though. He’s stinking the place up. And, really, he should be healing already. Deaton even said so,” Cora whispered.  
Derek thought Cora was being way dramatic. He didn’t stink. Sure there was some dirt overlaying, and the wounds had a worrying aroma, but the strongest scent by far was the fresh, foresty one. It was true, though, his slow healing was a concern. On most weres wounds like these would have begun knitting together within minutes, and be fully gone by now. If anything, these ones were looking more angry and sore than they had at the beginning, and the little wolf whined in pain every time he moved, even with Derek leaching his pain whenever he could.

“What’s that?” Cora derailed his thoughts, and he turned to where Marla was lapping at the back of the pup’s neck, along his scruff. There was a metallic jangling every time her thick, raspy tongue slid along the fur. Derek reached out, slow and steady, making a soothing rumble in his chest to keep the pup calm. He touched his neck, forcing himself not to react when Marla passed a slobbery tongue over his hand as she kept up with her cleaning. He could feel a band under his hand. Probably leather – it felt thick – all the way around, as his fingers traced it until they reached a cold metal disc. 

He carefully twisted it so he could see. ‘Stiles’. Nothing else, and he checked both sides.  
“Get Mom,” he told Cora.

* * * * * 

Talia had looked at the collar and tag and gone for a walk, taking their dad. Derek and Cora knew that meant ‘serious-grown-up conversation’, and that there was no point trying to fight their mom on it, but they knew they’d find out what the big deal was soon enough.

It was two days later before Deaton could come, as he’d been away at a doctor-vet conference. Derek had barely left the little wolf’s side, gently using warm cloths to clean his sticky eyes and dirt-encrusted fur. He’d stare up so peacefully, so _trustingly_ Derek would get the weirdest shimmer in his stomach, and almost feel like his eyes were welling up, though he wasn’t upset.

“They did used to wear them, they were quite fashionable when I was young. I had one myself,” Talia suggested to Dr Deaton as he passed the collar through his fingers.  
“But did you ever see one on a collar instead of a chain, outside the kink scene?”  
Derek filed that thought right under ‘never think of this again’ as Deaton continued.  
“And they contained contact information. And, even if we don’t know for sure, there’s no way this pup is old enough for it to be something from way back then.”  
Derek and Cora had matching quizzical looks.  
“When we’re in wolf form, if something happens, they can check the microchips. But they only invented them about twenty years ago. Before that it was common to wear tags, for identification,” Talia explained.

“We should contact the Sheriff,” she continued.  
“Why? Sheriff Stilinski is by-the-book. You know he’s as cold as anything, and he’ll have the pup…Stiles?...straight into some facility,” Derek felt a panic at the idea of the ruthlessly efficient Sheriff becoming aware of his- _the_ little wolf. 

Talia and Deaton seemed to be sharing a conversation without speaking, but Derek ignored that, looking down at the wolf, who’d finally relaxed enough, despite Deaton and Talia, to rest his head on Derek’s thigh.  
“But this isn’t identification. It doesn’t even have a real name on it. It’s more like a tag for a pet dog,” Cora suggested. 

“Are you _really_ sure he’s not a regular wolf?” Cora asked doubtfully, watching him headbutt Derek’s hand when he stopped stroking for a moment. “Or even a regular dog?”  
The pup – Stiles – lifted his head, his whiskey eyes flashing sharp silver as he glared at Cora.  
“I think that answers your question, Dear,” Talia chuckled, but caught herself short, looking to Deaton, again.  
“Why do you two keep looking at each other like that?” Derek huffed.  
“Yeah it’s getting creepy,” Cora agreed.  
“What does Stiles smell like?” Deaton asked.  
“Forests and citrus,” Derek said instantly, just as Cora said, “Unwashed, blood, pain.”  
It was their turn to share a look, as Deaton just nodded.

“I thought as much. You thought so too, Talia?”  
“I suspected.”  
“And the silver eyes just add an extra layer.”  
“An extra layer of what?” Derek demanded. Trust Deaton to be ambiguous.  
“Darling, do you remember when the pack had that little…altercation with that Rogue that wondered onto our lands? And your father was injured? Can you remember what he smelled like?”  
“It was awful, like rotting flesh.”  
“He smelled like the pup does. Because the Rogue was an Alpha, so it took ages for his wounds to heal, and he was in pain.”

Derek looked at Cora, ready to tell her she was being over dramatic about the pup’s scent, but something was coming through, in the information Deaton liked to drip feed and, okay, maybe his mom was a bit guilty of it too.  
“What did Dad smell like to you then, Mom?”  
“He smelled like woodsmoke and brandy. I could smell the pain, of course, but it never got overwhelming, because I needed to stay close, to tend to him.”  
“Because he’s your mate, right?”  
“Right.”

Derek looked down at the little wolf, who was gazing back, his beautiful caramel eyes looking more intelligent by the second. Even though it felt like stating the obvious now, he still had to ask.  
“And you think he’s my mate?”  
“Yes,” Talia said simply, smiling, but Derek rubbed his hand over his face in a sharp movement that had the little wolf flinch and then yelp.  
“Ssh, sorry, baby,” Derek soothed, leaching his pain, before turning back to Deaton and his mom. “But he’s a wolf. Possibly permanently.”  
“I must confess I was worried for a period,” Deaton admitted, never failing to take his damn time to get to the point. “His loss of healing ability was a concern, and his refusal to shift. As you know, any were would be far more comfortable in human form around so many other unknown weres as human.”

At least Talia seemed frustrated by now, and she huffed, “Get to the point, Alan.”  
“I am sorry, but it’s very important we understand and don’t leap to conclusions, though those silver eyes are a pretty big tell.”  
Derek knew pushing him was only making him go slower, as the man took a perverse pleasure in keeping his knowledge to himself. Though assistance came from an unexpected quarter.  
“Holy shit, he’s an Omega!” Cora exclaimed.  
“No he isn’t. Male Omegas are a total myth,” Derek scoffed.  
“Were you asleep in Bio, Der? They aren’t a myth at all, they’re just super rare, and they have silver flashes, but the girls have violet. Like one in a thousand Omegas is male, and Omegas are already rare anyway. Like one in a hundred weres, so that’s like…” Cora gave up on the math, and just stared, wide-eyed, at the little wolf. 

“What else did you learn at school, Cora?” Deaton asked, smiling.  
“Uh, that they can have babies, the boys, and that they’re really strongly tied to their mates, which is why you hardly ever see them, because they have to be protected, and because they kind of pine away if they don’t find their mate, so if you ever see an Omega over about twenty-five you know they’re mated. Apparently, in the medical world, being Omega is considered a life-limiting birth defect, and before they find their mates they don’t heal so well. And they’re at risk from traffickers because they’re considered super exotic and all the skeevy perverts want to be able to say they’ve had an Omega.”  
“Oh. They really have taught you a lot.”  
“That was in Social Science. We did a project in junior year. There’s a girl in my class that’s Omega, and she’s all sweet and delicate and stuff and all the Alphas, especially, are all over her, but she’s saving herself for her mate, she told me, but her dad has her on, like, total lockdown. She’s pretty much only allowed to school, and her older brother always has to pick her up and go anywhere with her. It sucks, cause she doesn’t even know if she’ll ever find her mate, but it’s sweet how she keeps hoping.”

“So he isn’t my mate then,” Derek announced.  
“Why not?” Cora demanded, clearly reluctant to let go of the romantic ideal.  
“He isn’t healing, and he’s been around me for days.”  
“Perhaps the reason he hasn’t shifted is because he’s too weak,” Talia suggested.  
“And, well, you aren’t actually _mated_ , perhaps that’s the necessary prompt,” Deaton said with a gentle smile that Derek wanted to knock off his face.  
“Derek could always shift…” Talia suggested softly. Stiles growled lowly, even as he pushed his head against Derek’s leg.  
“I’m not sure it would be entirely advisable,” Deaton responded with a slight grimace and Derek suddenly had a thought about what the little wolf might have gone through before they found him.  
“But if it helps him heal?” Talia insisted.  
“I think he’s already beginning to. The infection is slowly fading. And I’m hopeful that he might shift, but he needs time.”

* * * * * 

They took Deaton’s advice. When they, very carefully, with Marla watching over the situation with intense attention, showered him, Derek could see that, indeed, his wounds were beginning to flatten and no longer looked infected.

Derek spent almost the entirety of the next two weeks with the little wolf, who he finally adopted the name ‘Stiles’ for, as he seemed to respond positively to it, perking his head up and letting out yips of approval as he became more and more vocal. And he was, vocal that is. He purred when he was content, growled and barked if anyone unexpected tried to sneak up the stairs to take a look at the wolf that was the talk of the house, yipped and yowled and rowled in response to Derek’s words. More and more, Derek felt like he was having full conversations, as he was getting good at gauging the wolf’s moods, and one of his favorite noises was the little huffs that he was pretty sure were Stiles’ version of giggles. 

Derek washed Stiles (in his own, expensive shampoo: only the best for the little wolf), and combed his fur, which was growing back thick and glossy in a burnished deep brown, and his appetite was slowly but surely returning, putting meat where it needed to be and making it clearer each day that Stiles was no pup. But he still hadn’t shifted, and Derek was starting to feel guilty that it was because of him. He was fond of the pretty ball of fur that he was becoming, and found almost everything he did utterly adorable, but he’d thought finding your mate was some huge fireworks thing, and so far it just felt like a nice warmth, which didn’t seem to fit. Maybe Stiles was rejecting him as a mate? Though his own wolf _was not_ a fan of that thought, and it made his heart sit uncomfortably in his throat.

In the evenings, Derek sometimes put movies on, noting Stiles’ reaction to each choice, and discovered that he was a big fan of superheroes and cartoons. He started to wonder about his life, and what age he might have shifted and stayed that way, though, realistically, they had no chance of finding out his history until they had an actual name for him. Stiles would curl by his side, his head on Derek’s thigh, and, often, Derek would look down and see the little (not so little any more, though) wolf gazing up at him with those stunning brown eyes and he had an almost unbearable need to make sure nothing bad ever happened to him again.

Derek was on one of his irregular forays into the kitchen, because Cora normally brought their food but tonight Derek had suggested popcorn and Stiles had made one of his adorable noises, and then they’d scrolled through all the options, and Derek was now searching the treat cupboard for chips and Twizzlers.  
“Haven’t seen much of you lately,” his father said, making him jump.  
“Sorry, Dad.” Derek did feel guilty. He’d been neglecting the whole pack, largely because Stiles got nervous if he allowed anyone but Cora or his mom to scent him.  
“I get it. I wasn’t that much different about your mom. Though I imagine it’s even more intense, with him being Omega.”  
“I don’t know. I mean, my heartbeat goes a little crazy, but I think it might be trying to match with his which is pretty erratic still. And I don’t like being too far away from him. And I like it when he lays close to me. He sleeps behind my knees, which is the cutest thing…” Derek trailed off, pink cheeked as his dad just looked warmly at him.  
“Have you thought about showing him your wolf? No,” he interrupted Derek’s screwed up face, “not that way. Literally just showing him.”  
“I don’t want to scare him.”  
“I get that. But you know it’s pretty unusual that the mate bond has even come to light when you’re in different forms? Maybe that’s the Omega thing again. It makes it stronger, apparently.”  
“Really?”  
“Seriously, what did they teach you at school?”  
Derek huffed. “I was more an English nerd.”  
“Well, when your mother visited my pack, I was in wolf form when she arrived, and we didn’t even register each other until she shifted later to join a pack run. And then we both knew instantly.”

It wasn’t like Derek hadn’t thought about it. They’d be able to communicate better, though he thought they were doing pretty well already. Fear of scaring Stiles had stopped him and, deep down, fear of finding out, through that improved communication, just how bad things had been for him. Derek had a feeling he wouldn’t take it too well. 

But if what his dad said was right…if it would _kickstart_ their bond fully – send it from something nice and warm and caring to something more like what he’d heard mate bonds were like…even more, there was the thought that it might be what it took to prompt Stiles to finally shift…?

Derek handed the chips and candy to his dad, and unceremoniously stripped his Henley and jeans off, before shifting into his black-furred wolf. His dad gave him a loving pat and handed the packets back, which he snatched up in sharp white teeth.

When he got to the doorway of Stiles’ room he paused, already feeling overcome with some _sense_ that seemed to be pulsing through him, and he dropped the packets so the smaller wolf would lift his head and spot him. Stiles twisted his head first with a mewl, before leaping to his feet, body trembling, a high pitched keen coming from his throat. It didn’t hit Derek with any less force – an almost physical step back as his wolf positively _howled_ in joy at being allowed to the forefront. Derek huffed now, at the unnecessary worry that Stiles would be scared, as he leaped from the bed and to Derek in only two leggy strides, slamming into his side with excited ruffles.

Unsurprisingly, the movie was forgotten, though Stiles did find time to rip into the Twizzlers, as they spent the evening scenting all over, taking turns to show the inherent trust that came with being mates, each rolling to bare their bellies and allow the other to sniff and lick. Derek’s wolf wanted to take it further, naturally pushing to claim the Omega for himself, inarguably and irrevocably, but Derek held him back, promising it would be even better if they waited until they could know Stiles wanted that side of it as much as them. As Stiles’ scent was calm and comfortable, with arousal that peaked and troughed, but was in no way consistent, Derek’s wolf happily reveled in the scent of content mate, for the time being. 

He was human when he awoke, dazed and inattentive after their late night. He stroked down Stiles’s long, pale thigh, as he sat up, the skin soft under his fingertips, and stumbled into his pants, thinking longingly of the coffee that his mom would have put on.

He was at the door before he realized, turning back with a happy whimper.

**Author's Note:**

> That is it - not a cliffhanger, but an open ending.  
> I would mention that I do have a thought in mind for this for a further, longer story, that I don't know if I'll write it, because it would be **Dark** (and yes the cap D is intentional). I did drop the odd hint into here just in case it comes to pass.


End file.
